Madelyn seemed to be delusional about Demario. No love lost, but Demario didn’t seem to have enough venom to stalk and kill Madelyn, and Alyssa Masters even seemed to have a slight affinity for her.
“What about one of the husbands or boyfriends of the women you’ve helped? Couldn’t one of them be after you?”
“It’s possible, but I’ve been doing this for years and nothing has happened. I’m very careful. Think about it…You thought we were in a cult or something like that. There isn’t much evidence to connect me to the women.”
It was true: Madelyn’s operation was covert and impressive, but I still wasn’t sure how this fit into Liza’s demise.
“Ms. Price, how was Liza involved in all of this, and what do you think it has to do with her murder?”
Madelyn sighed. “That one situation—the way that we got her out—is something I regret. If I could just have those moments back…I would change so much.”
“You think she was murdered because of her past?”
“Yes.”
I nodded before heading into the kitchen to boil another kettle of water. When I returned, I pulled my chair closer to Madelyn.
“Start from the beginning; do not leave anything out.”
***
New Orleans, Louisiana – New Year’s Eve, 1999
New Orleans sat in a thick cloud of haze. The causeway was packed with commuters and early partygoers enthralled by the Y2K storyline. What would happen when the clock struck twelve? Would the world fall into mass chaos? Even though New Year’s Day had come and gone without a hitch on the other side of the world, the partygoers allowed the lure of Y2K to heighten their passions. On New Year’s Eve 1999, the Big Easy offered more sleaze than usual.
Liza Abernathy was eagerly awaiting the massive shutdown of the city at midnight, but not because she wanted to party. Instead, Liza wanted the chaos of Bourbon Street at midnight because her life depended on it. Of course, to save herself, she would be sacrificing an innocent, and for that, she was truly sorry, but what else could she do?
“You can’t panic. The moment you get the chance, do it. After that, you run like hell to the corner of Canal and Bourbon. Canal and Bourbon Streets are where all the festivities start, so by that time, the crowds will be moving toward Esplanade. We’ll have the benefit of the crowd, and no one will be paying attention to the alleys. We’re armed, so we won’t have to worry about the dopers and prostitutes. If we lock the doors and keep the guns handy, we’ll be fine. Once you’re in the van, you’re safe. You hear that, Liza? Once you’re in the van, you are safe, so just get to the van. If you don’t make it to the van by 12:45 a.m., we’re leaving.”
The black Ford Econoline van would be idling in the alley. They knew traffic would be terrible, but that was okay. As long as Demario didn’t see her get into the van, it didn’t matter how long they were stuck in traffic, or if they were able to get out of town that night.
“We’ll camp a few days in Fontainebleau State Park. Hotels are easy, and all the information is traceable, but staying in a park will buy us time. On January 4th, we’ll hit I-10 and head back to Michigan, but you have to change your address to the safe house in the French Quarter before we leave. Got it?”
The team would head north but leave a trail that led to the French Quarter. Liza Abernathy would be listed as living with Madelyn Price in a small two-bedroom apartment on Dumaine Street. If Demario went looking for them, he’d search in Louisiana.
Liza listened to the rapid-fire instructions with great trepidation. Clearly, Madelyn had done this before—perhaps a million times—but this was her maiden voyage.
“He’s crazy, so we can’t take any chances. There won’t be any time for goodbyes or anything like that. In fact, I must insist that you don’t tell anyone here or back at home what we’re doing. Just run like hell. We will take care of the rest.”
Liza nodded.
“I need a firm commitment. My life could be on the line as well. I’m willing to take the risk if that means you will be free, but I have to know that you’re ready to make the commitment.”
Madelyn spoke and moved like a soldier. Her eyes were intent and focused, and her words clear and precise. Directions and actions were given without emotion.
“You want to go back to Michigan, which is fine, but you will need to stay at the safe house for three months before you let your family know you’re safe and in town.”
“I don’t have much money saved. How will—?”
“You will stay at the safe house in Cheboygan for three months. During that time, Demario will try to track you down. First, he’ll find out you’ve rented a place here, which will be false. Next, he will look for you in Detroit and Livonia. He thinks you’re weak and stupid, and that you only know to run back to your parents.”
“What if he continues to look for me after three months?”
“By the time he finds you—and he will—you will be in control of your life. You also will not be living in Detroit. That is another stipulation. If you want to deter him, live in the suburbs. If he shows up in Northville Township, Novi, Farmington Hills, etc. he’ll have to be on his best behavior. He’s black. The police will already be watching him because they know he doesn’t belong.”
Liza bristled at the insinuation that covert racism could save her life. Madelyn noticed.
“In this case, the unfortunate stereotypes are protecting you. It is what it is…no need to feel one way or another about it. Besides, he’s a monster. Do not feel sorry for him.”
“Why aren’t we leaving New Orleans immediately?”
“If you’re running, no one expects you to stay in the place you’re running from. It also gives you time to understand the weight of what we’re doing. Demario will look for you around town, but not in a park. He’s a city boy; he’ll assume you’re in the city. He’ll contact any friends or family of yours he knows back in Michigan, and since they don’t know anything, and you’ve been estranged from them, they won’t act. Demario is an arrogant criminal. He’s not going to walk into a police station and file a missing person report.”
Liza already knew the answer, but she decided it was worth asking anyway.
“Madelyn…what about…Danica? Is there no way we can get her? Maybe we can stop by and get her before heading back to Michigan. I—”
Madelyn slammed her fist against the side of the van.
“We’ve been through this. You know the plan. Do not deviate from the plan!”
“But she’s my baby…I need to—”
“Demario Masters is lazy. He won’t find work, and after a few months, he’ll be back in Michigan. In a year, once you’re on your feet, you find him, take him to court, and get your child back. That’s the way it has to be.”
Chapter Fourteen
Madelyn had told me the tale wearing a blank, nondescript expression, but I could see the pain and regret in her eyes. She hadn’t made a mistake—her actions had been deliberate, and there was no way to undo them.
“What would you change about that situation?” I asked.
“The lies…I wouldn’t have told them. We could have gotten both of them out. I was younger then, and stupid. After I left Demario, I was angry. I blamed Liza for the end of my relationship with Demario. Of course, that was a godsend, but as a young woman, I didn’t see it like that. I wanted her to pay for what she’d done. Even though I was over Demario, I wasn’t over how she snuck in the back door and took what I considered to be mine.”
“Why did she reach out to you?”
“I don’t know. I guess she knew I would understand. She had left her entire life behind. Her parents were distraught, but the best they could do was rent her a tiny frame house in Brightmoor. She kept running away, and they just wanted her safe. So, they rented her a house, but they didn’t have anything to do with her. She mailed the rent check and never saw them. They had no idea how bad things were. They didn’t like how she was living, so they stayed away. I don’t eve
n think they knew she was in Louisiana.”
“Why did you agree to help her?”
“She needed help.”
“And you knew how bad it was because you’d been with him.”
Madelyn nodded.
“He was extremely violent; I knew that. Liza tracked me down because she wanted to know what I’d done to get out. All she wanted was to get out, and I forced her to leave her daughter. It was a blind jealousy. I didn’t even know that was what it was back then. I would do anything now to change it.”
It wasn’t the story I’d expected to hear, but it made sense: everything is about love or money. This time, love, or at least a relationship that had been carried out under the guise of love, had spurred something nasty. Now, I just needed to find out if all of this figured into Liza’s murder.
“What happened after Liza came back to Michigan?”
“After we got Liza out, she was so grateful that she wanted to repay us by helping. That was great, because she could reach a certain demographic that didn’t respond to me. Liza knew all the former cheerleader-turned-alcoholic abused wives who lived in the suburbs. I knew all the college girls who hid their pain in the silence of dorm rooms. Over the years, we’ve helped more than sixty women get out of abusive relationships.”
“You mentioned that Liza was careless with men. Why are you so sure she wasn’t having an affair?
“She was more of a tease—just liked the attention. We weren’t best friends, but we had to be open about secrets because of what we were doing. I would have known if she was having an affair.”
“What were you meeting about the day Liza was murdered?”
“She wanted to talk to me about something; said there had been a development of some kind. We were always careful about what we said on the telephone. We didn’t think our phones were tapped, but we’d learned the best way to transmit delicate information is in person.”
I had a feeling that Madelyn knew exactly what Liza wanted to talk to her about. Even so, I held my tongue. She had given me more than enough information to research. Now, I just needed to find out who was upset about Liza and Madelyn’s underground network.
“How many people know what you’re doing?”
“Just those of us who work to get the girls out. Others know that we help women, but they don’t know the particulars.”
“Tell me why you think someone is after you.”
“Someone has been leaving notes and trailing me. Tonight, I was followed from the parking garage at the U to my house.”
“Do you have the notes?”
“Yes.” Madelyn pulled two half sheets of loose-leaf paper from her jacket pocket. Both notes were scribbled in erratic, angry print. The letters appeared to have been carved into the paper with great force. The ink marks penetrated the faded blue lines. The first note said, “Live by the sword, die by the sword.” The second note said, “Sins of the father.”
“These are clichés—nothing personal. Someone feels like you’ve wronged them, but they don’t know you well enough for personal attacks. As for a sword…Who have you cut down?”
“Are you thinking that this is some type of metaphor or symbolic message? That might be over-thinking it a bit.”
“Well, if someone simply wanted to scare you, the messages would be more ominous. These messages are meant to shame and remind you of something. Someone feels you participated in an injustice.”
“I haven’t wronged anyone.”
I considered pointing out the tale Madelyn had just shared, but thought better of it. Instead, I said, “You may not have wronged anyone in your eyes. I’m not saying you did anything to deserve this, but perception is subjective. Someone out there feels like you did something to them.”
“That can’t be it,” Madelyn said with finality.
I needed Madelyn out of my hair. She’d come to me for help, but engaging in a debate was futile. I needed time, and the freedom to work.
“Ms. Price, you have houses around the state…You need to go to one that is outside of this area. Stay there for a while. I’ll send my assistant with you. Before we do that, do you think you were followed here?”
“I don’t think so. The car I think is following me is an old, reddish-brown Cutlass. It’s probably a 1984 or ’85, in great shape. I lost them by sneaking into the shed out back and riding my four-wheeler away from the house. There’s another safe house about two miles from my place. I picked up my other car once I got there.”
An old Cutlass wouldn’t stand out if it was in good shape. People love their cars in Michigan, and cherished classics are seen on a regular basis. “Okay. Well, I’m going to call my assistant and have him stay with you at one of your houses. Do you have anything outside of this area? Perhaps something on the other side of Detroit?”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate, which was fine. I didn’t need to know at this point, and Martin would tell me later. I called Martin and asked him to come to my place as soon as possible.
***
Martin and Madelyn left for parts unknown and I headed to my home office in the basement. The messages from the notes ran through my head. ‘Sins of the father’; ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’—someone was sending a message. It sounded like revenge, which gave some credibility to the idea that Demario Masters was involved, but he was in prison. The younger brother was living on borrowed time in Cass Corridor, one sister was caring for a bundle of kids, and the other sister lived across the country. Of course, there was also the chance that Madelyn was simply trying to shift the focus. Her story was curious. It was understandable why she hadn’t originally told me about her undercover efforts to help battered women, but due to the nature of her endeavors, the perpetrator could be anyone—a second ex-husband, or even a battered woman who held Madelyn responsible for her life after leaving the abusive relationship. But if either of those were true, what did it have to do with Liza Abernathy’s death? Why did Liza want to meet with Madelyn the day she died? Who was the person Liza had told Abigail Abernathy about? Madelyn had said that Liza wasn’t “careful” with men. According to Madelyn, Liza liked attention, but wasn’t a cheater.
The Masters had to be the missing link. Demario was locked up, but his two sisters, brother, daughter, and several nieces and nephews were out in the world. Perhaps someone was carrying out an order from Demario. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone in prison had ordered a hit. It was late in Michigan, but the evening was just getting under way in California. I decided to call Sara Quick a second time.
She answered on the third ring.
“Mrs. Quick, I need to find your niece, Danica. Any information you have that will help me do that would be helpful.”
Sara sighed and waited before speaking.
“Mrs. Wilcox, I don’t want to open a can of worms I can’t close. I keep my distance for a reason.”
“I understand, but I need to speak with Danica. Please, if there is anything you can do to help, I would appreciate it.”
A long, tense silence filled the phone. After a few minutes of nothing, I was getting ready to bid Sara Quick goodbye when she said, “She’s at Alyssa’s house. I checked after we spoke.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, refraining from telling Sara that I had just visited Alyssa’s house and there had been no mention of Danica being there. I thought back to the kids in the house. The boy on his cell phone, the toddler, the elementary-school-aged kids from the basement, and…the angry girl with the green eyes.
“Thank you, Mrs. Quick. You’ve been very helpful.”
I would stop by Alyssa’s house early in the morning and wait for Danica to leave. She may or may not attend school, but it looked like Alyssa was at least trying to do the right thing for the kids. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she really was working hard to keep the kids on the straight and narrow. In the meantime, I would see what else I could find out about the Masters family.
The Masters family didn’t have a
major web presence. Demario’s brother, Raymond, had a few social media accounts that he hadn’t used in several years. The posts he’d created were inarticulate and sparse. His face was thin and worn, showing the signs of his illness. The last address listed for Raymond Masters was in Cass Corridor, a section of Detroit where I had no desire to venture. I couldn’t see a reason to talk with Raymond, but another visit to the prison might be in order. First, I would try to track down Danica. Why would Alyssa Masters lie about knowing where her niece lived? The obvious answer was to protect her, but I had no idea what she needed protection from. A murder conviction? A plethora of bad memoires? I couldn’t deduce what was going on from the interview with Alyssa. I needed another perspective.
I needed to run all of this by someone. Martin was busy, so I decided to call my old friend. Father Keegan had been my confidant for several decades. As a child, after my brother was abducted, my parents went into a permanent state of mourning. The inexplicable loss of a child and the constant search for answers made them aloof. It had been painful, but as I’d aged, I understood that irrevocable harm had been done to our family. When I’d been younger and bitter, Father Keegan had helped me to keep from becoming a terrible person.
He was accustomed to my late-night phone calls and inquiries outside of his realm of expertise. It was a little after midnight when I decided to give him a call.
“Father Keegan, can you talk?”
“Hi, Sylvia. I’m at the hospital. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to talk, but it sounds like you’re busy.”
The hustle and bustle of a hospital wing raged on in the background. He must have been anointing someone, or administering the Last Rites.
“I am…not too busy. I’m all done for the night.”
Father Keegan was always very careful about what he told me. He considered his duties as a priest sacred and private. He could tell me who he’d seen in the hospital, but he had a knack for only revealing what was necessary. That was one reason why he was such a great confidant: I knew that whatever I told him wouldn’t find its way to anyone else.
Who She Was Page 21
